Chapter Thirty #2
“Yea, I know,” he breathes out. “But I killed Kieran, okay? I did it, and I don’t feel bad about it. What I do feel bad about is upsetting you. I didn’t mean to do that…” He swallows. “I’m sorry.”
What in the holy hell…?
The look I’m giving him is one of sheer perplexity.
My gaze narrows. “Why in the fuck would I believe that you’re sorry for upsetting me when you don’t feel sorry for taking someone’s life? Do I look like an idiot to you?”
“No.” He shakes his head. “But you seem like a cool guy. Like Luthor and Ren. You guys are all… really nice.”
I wonder if he’d still be saying this if he knew what we did to his bedroom…
“I’m not nice,” I grumble. “If we’re being honest, neither is Ren. Luthor’s the only one who’s kind-hearted, and even he has his issues…”
“I know that, but I like hanging out with them,” he murmurs. “And you. If I’d known killing Kieran would make you hate me, I might’ve… reconsidered.”
My mouth is just hanging open. I have no earthly motherfucking clue what to say to something like that.
Is he fucking with me?? He has to be. Serial killers aren’t… thoughtful? Considerate of people’s feelings?
“What the fuck are you even talking about?” I mutter, releasing him and sitting back. “You’re a goddamn lunatic…”
That makes him smile.
Okay, I’m sufficiently disturbed at the turn this is taking.
“Yea, that’s a fact.” He huffs. “Listen, like I said to you the day you broke my glasses… You can fuck me up if that’s what you need to do. I get it, and I’ll take it. Not that I think I could ever take you in a fight…”
“You couldn’t,” I grunt.
“I’m just saying.” He chuckles. “I respect the vengeance, trust me, I do. But one thing I will not allow you, or Trevel, to do is hurt Lemuel. That’s where I draw the line.”
My brows lift while I consider his wacky words. I hate that he’s getting through to me, but I can’t stop recognizing the reality in all this.
This path of revenge we’re on… It’s a vicious cycle. As long as people keep getting hurt, someone will always feel the need to avenge them.
If either of them hurts Trevel, I’ll fucking hurt them in return. And then they’ll hurt me… When does it end?
I’m suddenly very tired. So very exhausted by all of this.
More than anything, I just want Trevel to come back.
I actually glance at the door, praying he’ll come striding through right now , alive and well.
Tall and pretty, with those peculiar eyes and puffy pink lips sloped into one of his smirks.
His deep voice with that accent talking so much nonsense, but purposefully excluding the real stuff. The stuff I want…
Bright white flashes outside the window, thunder rumbling with it, like the roar of a thousand lions. It rattles the walls.
I despise not knowing what Trevel’s doing, and if he’s okay. I’m antsy about it, feeling like a piece of me is missing and I don’t know where it is. It’s ludicrous… But apparently, we’ve become sort of codependent ourselves.
Jesus, how and when the hell did that happen??
Most of all, in the back of my mind, I truly hate how he jumped at the chance to take Lemuel. To be alone with him…
“I’m getting really worried.” Darcey squirms beneath me.
I roll off of him with a sigh, getting up and sauntering over to the window. “That was sorta the point…”
“Byron, I know you’re worried about Trevel,” he says, ignoring the glare I shoot his way. “They’re both out there in the storm—”
“Trevel knows what he’s doing,” I mutter, gulping down my uncertainty as I watch the trees thrashing.
“I saw your face…” he hums, and I peer in his direction once more. “When he kissed you. There’s no hiding that look. I’ve worn it myself, way too many times.”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” I argue, and it feels defensive. Heat is rushing up my neck.
“It doesn’t all have to be a fight, Byron,” he rasps. “Resigning yourself to the fucked-up reality is freeing. Believe me…”
I’m gawking at him, lips parted. This little shit is making sense, and it’s making me want to beat his ass even more.
Because he has a point. Maybe accepting what Trevel is to me instead of focusing on what he isn’t will help us… become something real .
A bolt of lightning interrupts my thoughts, so bright it flashes white into the room. There’s an immediate boom louder than any thunder I’ve ever heard; a crackling rumble, like a rift in the sky.
Gazing out the window, I take a step forward. But a crash has me stumbling back. A great thundering blast so significant it shakes the foundation beneath us. The walls rattle, things tipping over. A painting actually falls, smashing on the floor.
Okay, that’s not thunder… It felt like a missile launched right outside.
“What the fuck was that?!” Darcey gasps.
“I don’t know.” I’m not trying to seem affected, but my heart is racing wildly in my chest, adrenaline quaking my extremities.
“Did something blow up? Like a… transformer, or…?” Darcey keeps asking questions, as if I’m not stuck in this room with him, working with all the same information he is.
My gaze is stuck out the window as I approach it hesitantly, looking around for any sign of what might’ve happened. But all I can see are trees.
“It wasn’t loud enough to have happened here,” I mumble, mostly to myself. “It was… farther away…”
Maybe… from the prison.
“I gotta get out of here.” Darcey is yanking at his restraints, really spazzing out, rocking back and forth like a nutcase. “Lem could be hurt. I have to go find him!”
“You’re not going anywhere,” I hiss. “Calm the hell down.”
“I can’t,” he huffs, out of breath from wiggling around to no avail. “He’s out there. Something is happening… I can’t just fucking sit here! ”
“Well, that’s not your call, now is it?” I fold my arms over my chest.
He stares up at me helplessly. It gives me some minute satisfaction that’s not really placating me right now.
Shouting from outside distracts me, but I still can’t fucking see anything through the damn window.
This room has a shit view, man. It’s not high enough.
I bet if I went upstairs, I could see everything…
“You go then.” Darcey’s voice recaptures my attention. “Please, Byron… Go check on them. I need to know that he’s okay—”
“I’m not doing shit for you,” I growl.
“Not for me!” he whimpers. “For Trevel. He’s with Lem… If they’re in trouble, you could help them. Him …” he corrects, noting the look on my face. “You care about Trevel, Byron, I know you do. Whatever you guys are doing, it doesn’t matter. You care…”
My jaw is tight, muscles straining all over. Because he’s fucking right, again , and I fucking hate it. I am freaking out a little…
Trevel could be hurt. Whatever that was came from the exact direction he was headed…
There’s a sinking feeling in my gut I can’t ignore. Fighting off the reality isn’t working anymore.
Something is wrong.
Giving myself a few more seconds to weigh the options, I inevitably give up and stomp over to Darcey, checking his restraints. I double-check the area around him to make sure there’s nothing he can grab to get himself out.
I can’t believe I’m about to leave him alone…
But I have to. I need to make sure he’s alright.
“Shut the fuck up and stay fucking put,” I grumble. “I’ll be right back.”
“Thank you,” he breathes out, voice uneven with fear.
“I’m not fucking doing this for you.”
Leaving the room, I have honestly no idea what I’m doing or where I’m going. But I head for the stairs. ’Cause why not?
I figure getting up higher will get me answers faster than running out into the woods. Plus, who knows where The Ivory is… His men could be searching for me and Trevel, being that we technically escaped and all.
I need to find Trevel before they find me. I assume they’d be less likely to shoot on sight if I’m with him… Right?
So far, this night feels like a manic dream. From the doors to the prison opening out of nowhere, to leaving—being outside , for the first time in years—to the sex with Trevel, the chase , and then the capture of our enemies… Man, a lot has happened in the last hour.
Typical Alabaster Pen… Years of nothing and then bam! A lifetime of exciting shit happens in a few minutes.
Climbing the large white marble staircase, I keep quiet, in case I’m not alone.
It seems almost unfathomable that I would be.
The place is absolutely gargantuan. It’s like three mansions in one.
But I haven’t seen or heard anyone other than us since we’ve been in here.
Still, that doesn’t mean much. It’s spread out enough that I doubt you can hear what people are doing in other areas.
I’m jacked up to the max right now, terrified that The Ivory is going to pop out from around every corner. It’s fully plausible that he could be here… And as soon as I reach the third floor, I stop to gulp. Because it would appear that I’m now on his floor.
Great. Just wonderful…
So this is where I die.
It’s immediately obvious that this is where he resides.
This floor isn’t divided up the same way the second floor is, with bedrooms one by one.
This level is its own mansion, and the whole place just screams Ivory ; from the sheer excess of space, furniture, and lavish accoutrement, to the walls, adorned with erotic artwork and what looks like some kind of mural made of feathers and barbed wire.
I can feel him up here… And it’s freaking me the hell out.
Keeping close to the walls, I use the lack of power to my advantage. Remembering my stalking days, I’m stepping lithely, breathing shallow. Staying in the darkness to avoid being seen.
I pass room after room—a gym, an office, a study. There’s a separate, smaller staircase, which appears to go both down and up. Maybe to the roof?
This building was clearly designed by the same person who designed Alabaster Pen… It’s a fucking maze. By far the most peculiar home I’ve ever been in.